THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Indian    Legends 


of 


Early   Days. 


J/ 


I 


Oh,  early  days  of  solitude, 

Where  Love  subject  to  Nature's  mood, 
Awoke  to  life,  'mid  Eden  bloom, 

And  blissful  sought  no  other  doom. 
Where  life  by  intuition  grew, 

Nor  past,  nor  future,  cared  or  knew, 
Just  beings  floating  on  Life's  stream, 

A  blissful,  careless,  drawn-out  dream. 

By  the  Author. 


By 
Nettie  Parrish  Martin. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

MAYHEW  PUBLISHING  Co., 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


Copyright,    1905, 

by 
NETTIE  PARRISH   MARTIN. 


PS 

PREFACE. 


In  writing  these  poems  of  the  Indians'  legends, 
the  writer  had  in  mind  the  saving  of  their  "Folk 
Lore,"  sayings  which  have  proved  to  be  very 
accurate,  as  any  one  can  know  who  cares  to  watch 
and  investigate  their  signs  and  sayings. 


As  the  centuries  pass,  and  merge  into  the  ever 
present  now,  the  past  like  the  swirling  streak  of 
white  in  the  wake  of  a  vessel,  grows  dim  and 
full  of  mystery  as  the  years  speed  by.  Still  to 
the  deep  thinker,  it  is  a  chart,  or  log  book,  (when 
once  it  is  solved,)  full  of  instructions,  to  guide 
them  away  from  the  reefs  and  shoals,  that  other 
lives  have  found  along  the  narrow  straits  of  life's 
sea.  The  joys  of  the  past  are  joys  of  the  present, 
the  sorrows,  the  voices  of  prophets,  warning  of 
danger. 


SAVE  THE  FOLK  LORE. 


LET  us  gamer  them  all,  and  keep  them  safe  as 
among  our  choicest  relics  of  a  past  and  van 
quished  race,  a  race  whose  walk  and  talk  with 


1125512 


nature,  made  them  sages  of  wisdom,  whose  percep 
tion  of  right  and  truth,  bore  heroes  more  chival 
rous,  to  duty  and  honor,  than  the  proudest  knight 
of  the  old  world. 


These  "Indian  Legends,"  were  given  to  the 
writer  by  her  grandmother,  who  lived  near  one 
of  the  Indian  villages  of  the  Six  Nations,  and 
spoke  their  language. 

Jasper  Parrish,  (a  grandsire)  was  a  missionary 
and  trader  among  the  six  tribes,  and  during  his 
sojourn  among  them  he  so  endeared  himself  to 
all,  they  named  him  Sen-ne-oc-ta-wa,  meaning 
"Good  Man,"  and  ever  after  his  descendants 
had  only  to  say  that  name  and  every  care  and 
kindness  was  cheerfully  given  them  that  the 
Indians  were  able  to  bestow. 


The  Legends  of  the  "Oneidas,"  "The  Lost 
Arrow,"  " Skaneateles,"  and  "Pocahontas,"  are 
given  as  the  grandmother  used  to  tell  them, 
though  for  the  sake  of  rhyme,  and  rhythm  they 
have  been  lengthened  or  shortened  as  the  case 
might  seem  to  need. 


The  finding  of  the  little  white  boy  in  an  eagle's 
nest  (a  French  child  it  was  afterwards  learned) 
by  a  chief,  and  its  adoption  into  his  own  family, 


and  who  in  after  years  became  chief  himself, 
has  been  verified,  by  one  called  Indian  John,  a 
medicine  man  of  the  tribe  of  Onondagas.  The 
lightning's  crashing  through  the  rocks  and  leav 
ing  a  peculiar  shaped  red  stone  in  front  of  the 
captives,  who  at  the  intervention  of  what  seemed 
Providence,  were  set  at  liberty  and  thus  saved 
from  torture  and  death,  counted  the  stone  and 
storm,  the  agents  of  God's  will  to  secure  their 
release.  This  stone,  it  has  been  said,  is  still 
preserved  as  a  sacred  memento  of  their  once 
powerful  nation,  the  remnant  of  which,  migrated 
many  years  ago  to  the  then  far  West  (Wisconsin) 
where  they  still  live,  having  accepted  the  true 
Christian  faith. 


THE  STONE. 


THE  writer  has  learned  from  the  resident  mission 
ary,  that  they  have  a  stone  which  they  venerate 
as  the  real  stone  given  them  by  the  "  Great  Spirit " 
as  a  token  of  special  regard.  Whether  it  is  the 
one  Sen-ne-oc-ta-wa  (Jasper  Parrish,)  spoke  of, 
the  writer  does  not  know,  but  certain  it  is  there 
are  many  sayings,  and  legends,  of  the  early 
inhabitants  of  America,  which  outrival  in  purity 
of  morals,  in  love  and  passion,  those  of  the  "Old 
Countries." 


With  the  best  wish  for  the  happiness  for  all  who 


read  my  humble  effort,  I  cast  my  book  upon  the 
literary  sea,  trusting  it  will  bring  a  balm  to  some 
heart  who  is  sighing  for  better  and  more  of  this 
world's  goods,  and  bring  to  their  minds  a  tender 
thought  for  those  who  lost  their  homes  and  lives, 
that  we  might  enjoy,  a  home  and  far  better  com 
forts  in  the  best  land  of  freedom  the  sun  ever 
shone  upon,  bought  by  the  sacrifice  of  other  lives. 

NETTIE  PARRISH  MARTIN. 


PO-CA-HON-TAS  OR  MA-TO-A-KA. 


THE  INDIAN  PRINCESS. 


Come  gentle  spirits  of  the  dim  old  past, 
Let's  hold  communion  sweet  and  fast. 
Tell  me  of  days  of  the  long  ago, 
When  life  did  wake  to  ebb  and  flow, 
In  fierce  wild  struggles  love  and  hate, 
That  turned  in  hours  a  nation's  fate. 


Through  thoughts,  my  song  inspired  by  thee, 

I  tread  a  world  of  forestry 

Where  men  as  yet  uncultured  roam, 

And  call  this  wilderness  a  home. 

Proud  is  pl£  bearing,  true  his  word, 

For  Nature  taught  him  all  he  heard. 


Moved  by  the  elemental  force  around, 
He  learns  to  know  each  weird  sound, 
And  through  this  knowing  stoic  grows. 
Fashioned  by  these  he  timely  knows, 
A  being  trending  to  the  perfect  end, 
Where  God  for  him  life's  veil  shall  rend. 


* 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

And  teach  him  why  these  things  did  be, 
Why  this  wild  life  unfettered  free 
Did  wake  again  in  symmetry. 
A  jewel  wrought  in  mystery, 
Set  in  a  crown  of  brilliant  light, 
Where  error  fled  when  life  was  right. 


Now  every  plane  of  life  in  man, 
Had  its  own  joys  as  God  did  plan, 
Its  sorrows  too,  which  were  akin 
To  those  we  find  in  cultured  learning; 
Where  men  awake  at  knowledge  shrine, 
To  grasp  the  light  of  spirit  mind. 


Huddled  together  in  clans  or  flocks, 
Beneath  the  trees,  beneath  the  rocks, 
Man  drew  his  substance  from  the  sun, 
Brought  forth  from  earth  when  all  was  done, 
Fashioned  by  an  Omnipotent  hand, 
Centuries  agone  all  God  had  planned. 


Among  such  scenes,  by  life  force  fanned, 
God  placed  some  one  born  to  command, 
Whose  life  should  light  far  as  it  went, 
The  minds  and  work  for  which  'twas   sent, 
That  man,  poor  child  of  circumstance, 
Through  Wisdom's  light  should  have  a  chance. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

A  progress  chance  from  night  to  day, 
Through  every  plane  of  life  to  stray, 
His  dimly  conscious  soul  to  make, 
A  thirst  for  intellect,  to  wake, 
To  teach  all  things,  future  and  past, 
When  he  should  wake  a  man  at  last. 


Now  every  plane  had  mystery, 

And  every  epoch  Legendary, 

A  life  of  passion,  love  and  hate, 

That  turned  the  trend  of  mortal's  fate 

Into  strange  channels  they  ne'er  sought, 

Some  times  for  good,  some  mischief  wrought. 


Amid  such  scenes  near  Nature's  heart, 
Where  brute  and  man  each  shared  a  part, 
Lived  Pow-ha-tan,  a  wiley  king, 
Crafty  and  cunning  as  anything, 
Eloquent  and  bold  as  instinct  taught, 
He  swayed  all  councils  as  he  thought. 


A  mighty  chief  among  his  kind, 
A  warrior  brave  with  massive  mind, 
His  word  was  law,  none  dare  deny, 
Unless  they  wished  themselves  to  die. 
For  traitorhood  was  crucial  test, 
For  punishment  to  hold  the  rest. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

His  wealth  was  fabulous  and  grand, 
For  tithes  were  brought  on  every  hand, 
Rare  gems  uncut,  and  nuggets  of  gold 
Were  hidden  away  in  a  cavern  old, 
With  treasures  picked  up  on  the  sea-shore, 
Where  ships  went  down  to  sail  no  more. 


He  had  lands  for  miles  on  every  side, 
Where  beast  and  bird  could  come  and  hide; 
To  his  teepee  home  his  heart  was  tied, 
His  wife,  his  sons,  his  daughters,  his  pride, 
The  one  he  loved  best  to  romp  and  play 
Was  the  youngest,  Ma-to-a-ka. 


Po-ca-hon-tas   or   Ma-to-a-ka, 

Saw  a  ship  wrecked  on  the  rocks  one  day, 

And  she  called  them  all  to  the  sea-shore  there 

To  see  the  dead  with  their  faces  fair. 

A  plague-stricken  crew  stark  in  death, 

Thrown  on  the  rocks  by  the  wind's  wild  breath, 


That  drove  the  ship  without  living  crew, 
To  that  strange,  wild  land  they  never  knew. 
They  gaze  on  the  faces  so  strangely  pale, 
But  the  stony  glare  tell  them  no  tale 
Of  who  or  how  they  came  to  be  there, 
Tossed  on  the  rocks  by  the  wild,  fierce  air. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

They  gathered  the  spoils  on  the  sea-shore, 
And  they  talked  of  the  dead  still  more, 
Who  could  they  be  ?  from  whence  did  they  come  ? 
Pow-ha-tan  said  they  are  braves  from  the  sun; 
For  rumors  had  told  of  a  strange,  pale  race, 
Beyond  where  sun  did  wash  its  face. 


When  it  rose  to  light  old  ocean's  disc, 
With  all  the  light  that  rushed  so  brisk, 
High  o'er  the  fleecy  cloud-capped  sky 
When  shadows  fled  and  night  did  die. 
They  sure  are  Gods  of  battles  old, 
From  out  the  land  of  richest  gold. 


We'll  make  their  grave  mound  high  and  wide, 
Here  on  the  rocks  by  ocean's  side, 
Where  eagles  scream,  and  sea-dogs  wail, 
Shall  be  their  death-song,  with  the  gale. 
The  sun  shall  kiss  it  with  its  light 
The  moon  and  stars  watch  it  by  night. 


Now  all  of  life's  mystery  is  told, 
Of  that  bright  land  of  sunlight  old. 
'Tis  the  Great  Spirit's  happy  home, 
Where  all  the  hunters  love  to  roam; 
For  game  is  plenty  and  want  is  done, 
The  home  of  stars,  of  moon  and  sun. 


I 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

We'll  feast  our  father,  the  orb  of  day, 
For  he  has  cleared  the  mystery  away, 
And'showed  us  where  on  our  mother's  breast 
He  lays  his  head  when  he  goes  to  rest. 
Where  with  a  torch  he  lights  the  moon, 
The  stars  that  twinkle  out  so  soon. 


Po-ca-hon-tas  was  a  thoughtful  child, 

Loving,  true,  winsome  and  mild; 

Free  as  the  birds  in  forest  dell, 

She  had  strange  thoughts,  she  could  not  tell. 

And  like  her  father  she  swayed  for  good 

All  savage  moods  of  animalhood. 


She  heard  all  that  Pow-ha-tan  said, 
And  in  his  face  his  thoughts  she  read, 
Knew  when  she  could  approach  the  king 
To  ask  him  for  some  childish  thing; 
Or  when  'twas  best  to  steal  away 
From  anger  that  his  heart  did  sway. 


She  loved  her  home,  she  loved  the  trees, 
The  stars  and  moon  she  nightly  sees, 
But  the  great  Sun,  her  father  taught, 
Was  He  who  all  this  beauty  wrought, 
Like  to  His  home  beyond  the  wave, 
Where  gathered  all  the  warriors  brave. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Thus  from  now  her  thoughts  went  straying, 
O'er  the  sea  with  sunbeams  playing, 
And  she  peopled  in  her  mind, 
Pale-face  maids  divinely  kind. 
Pale-face  braves  of  honor  true, 
Brave  and  kingly,  this  she  knew. 


And  the  sea  more  charming  grew, 

The  break  of  day,  the  sunlight  too, 

The  moon-lit  bridge  o'er  ocean  vast, 

The  crested  waves  that  rolled  so  fast, 

These  brought  to  her  strange  thoughts  and  wild, 

A  yearning  wish  beyond  a  child. 


Thus  years  did  pass  and  dusky  maid, 
More  thoughtful  grew,  more  womanly  staid. 
She  sat  at  councils  with  the  chief, 
Argued  with  Sachems  on  her  belief; 
Asked  all  the  whys  of  racely  lore, 
Hungered  and  thirsted  still  for  more. 


But  when  her  soul  more  fuel  lacked, 

There  came  into  her  life  a  fact, 

As  if  some  spirit  heard  her  plea, 

And  sent  her  wish  from  o'er  the  sea. 

A  vessel  came,  a  white-winged  bird 

With  pale-face  braves,  her  prayer  is  heard. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Belated  hope!    Long- wished- for  light, 
Borne  on  the  wings  of  ocean's  might, 
Shall  yield  its  fruit  thro'  coming  years, 
Though  sown  in  joys,  tho'  sown  in  tears, 
And  all  of  life's  ingratitude 
Shall  measure  find  in  some  life  crude. 


*  Hons-ta-ma-tha,  one  of  the  crew, 

Had  heard  wild  tales  of  gold  that  grew 

In  forest  fastness  by  the  sea, 

In  a  world  full  of  mystery; 

Vast  fortunes  opportunity  did  hold 

For  him  who  loved  adventure  bold. 


And  so  he  planned  with  active  zest, 

How  he  this  gold  from  earth  could  wrest. 

Worked  and  planned  how  to  embark, 

But  all  his  plans  end  in  the  dark, 

Until  a  confidential  mate 

Gives  him  the  funds  and  shares  his  fate. 


He  knew  that  danger,  a  mighty  band, 
Lurked  in  the  path  on  every  hand. 
Treachery  and  cunning  deceit, 
In  crafty  redman,  he  must  meet; 
Reptiles  and  animals  ever  alert, 
Watched  o'er  the  realm  to  kill  and  hurt. 

*  Indian  name  for  John  Smith. 
8 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Still  he  had  much  of  danger  known, 
He  sowed  the  wind  and  reaped  his  own, 
And  dared  the  dangers  of  the  main 
In  hopes  to  win  the  shining  gain; 
He  with  his  friends,  a  trusted  few, 
Who  like  himself  sought  riches  too. 


Should  opposition  dare  oppose 
To  bring  around  him  many  foes, 
He  takes  with  him  a  host  of  things, 
Cloth  of  bright  weave,  trinkets  and  rings 
To  please  their  fancy,  pave  the  way 
For  future  plots  and  crafty  play. 


Thus  man  does  hold  himself  ahead 
Of  all  the  beasts  he  ever  read; 
But  tell  me  do  the  stronger  sons 
Show  pity  to  the  weaker  ones? 
Or  do  they  secret  watch  and  plan, 
Devour  the  whole,  or  all  they  can? 


It  may  be  progress  urges  the  fight 

And  holds  men's  conscience  in  a  blight, 

'Till  error  gains  an  upward  light, 

Of  future  years  in  life  most  bright, 

Which  when  it  grasps  it,  will  kiss  the  rod, 

That  chastened  it,  through  ways  it  trod. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Hons-ta-ma-tha    sought    Pow-ha-tan, 
Sought  the  great  and  mighty  chieftain, 
Told  him  all  that  paleface  done, 
In  his  home  of  Morning  Sun; 
Brought  out  his  wares  for  chief  to  see, 
What  paleface  made  beyond  the  sea. 


Fancy  belts  of  colored  beads, 
Shoes,  and  pipes  of  rare  old  reeds, 
Blankets  for  squaw,  blankets  for  brave, 
Some  he  sold  and  some  he  gave. 
Rich  presents  too  for  warrior  king, 
Guns  and  powder  he  did  bring. 


Saw  the  little  dusky  maiden 
Watch  her  father  at  his  trading, 
Saw  the  chief  loved  her  the  best, 
Made  her  a  present  of  a  dress; 
A  dress  of  silk,  all  made  to  wear, 
Some  scarlet  plumes  to  deck  the  hair. 


Gave  her  rings  for  hands  and  ears, 
Gave  her  till  she  lost  her  fears. 
Kindly  thought  she  of  the  paleface, 
Saw  the  difference  twixt  her  race, 
Troubled  thoughts  were  these  for  child, 
Yet  they  would  come  all  the  while. 


10 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Hons-ta-ma-tha  made  a  bargain 
For  his  trinkets  with  the  chieftain, 
Sent  his  vessel  home  well  laden 
From  the  coffers  of  the  redman; 
Then  he  tarried  with  Pow-ha-tan, 
In  the  land  of  Pow-ta-mat-can. 


Here  he  staid  to  learn  of  redmen, 
Where  the  gold  in  earth  was  hidden, 
Where  the  gems  were  fashioned  bright 
When  the  time  for  furs  was  right. 
Thus  innocence  he  worked  for  pelf, 
He  worked  it  well  for  friends  and  self. 


Oh,  dawning  intellect  of  day, 
How  many  wrongs  did  cunning  play, 
Through  lack  of  knowledge,  with  deceit, 
To  rouse  thy  mind  to  vengeance  sweet, 
A  scholar  rude  you  caught  the  art, 
And  woke  to  know  and  take  thy  part. 


Then  when  thy  savage  nature  'rose 
Against  the  wiles  of  pale-face  foes, 
The  strongest  one  devoured  the  least 
In  one  great  long  and  drawn-out  feast; 
Took  many  lives,  took  every  home, 
And  left  the  residue  to  roam. 


ii 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Pow-ha-tan  had  a  cunning  mind, 
To  read  men's  thoughts  he  was  inclined; 
He  saw  the  avarice  and  the  greed, 
And  worried  least  the  paleface  feed 
His  braves  with  food  of  discontent, 
One  wrong  their  coming  never  meant. 


He  saw  the  growing  reverence, 

He  saw  the  friendly  confidence 

Between  the  paleface  and  his  child; 

These  thoughts  of  course  were  tamely  mild, 

Until  fierce  jealousy  with  fear 

Repeats  these  words  into  his  ear. 


Oll-a-pach-chee,   a  lesser  king, 
Told  Pow-ha-tan  everything, 
Whispered  to  him  his  belief 
That  paleface  meant  to  be  a  chief; 
Thus  in  the  midst  of  pleasantry 
There  sprang  fierce  passions  rivalry. 


Oll-a-pach-chee  talked  with  maiden, 
Told  her  all  in  forest  garden, 
On  the  banks  of  flowing  river, 
Where  she  stopped  to  fix  her  quiver, 
Tried  to  make  her  hate  the  paleface, 
Sought  his  triumph  for  her  race. 


12 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Po-ca-hon-tas  tried  in  vain, 
To  make  his  words  and  meaning  plain, 
Tried  to  find  the  cause  for  hate 
Which  she  knew  was  redman's  trait 
If  he  felt  some  wrong  was  meant, 
Then  he  his  mind  on  mischief  bent. 


While  she  thought  she  angry  grew, 
For  'twas  false,  she  felt  she  knew; 
Only  a  child  of  just  sixteen, 
There  she  stood  a  royal  queen, 
While  her  dark  eyes  piercing  grew, 
As  these  words  from  her  lips  flew. 


Oll-a-pach-chee,  coward  brave, 
What  has  paleface  done  or  gave 
That  you  like  serpent  in  the  way 
Glide  unawares  to  strike  your  prey? 
Dog  of  the  Pow-ta-mat-can  race, 
I  bid  you  seek  no  more  my  face. 


Then  she  turned  like  wounded  deer, 
Along  the  trail  oppressed  with  fear, 
Full  of  thoughts  that  there  was  danger 
For  her  friend,  the  pale-face  stranger, 
Fleeing  like  a  frightened  bird 
When  it  the  whirr  of  arrow  heard. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Ah!    Love  that  must  rise  base  deceit 
To  win  its  prize  so  tempting  sweet, 
Shall  wake  to  find  the  dream  was  fleet 
Of  blissful  happiness  complete, 
And  hate  the  name  of  love,  and  greet 
What  else  of  life  gives  joys  replete. 


But  why  should  love,  sweet  heavenly  gift, 
Be  lost  in  passions  maelstrom  swift? 
Why,  why  must  mortals  taste  the  woes, 
That  passion  brings  where'er  it  goes? 
Tell  me  what  fiend  awoke  deceit, 
To  change  this  virtue  so  complete  ? 


Yet  there's  a  love  that's  pure  as  gold, 
That  down  the  centuries  long  has  rolled, 
A  love  whose  purpose  is  to  mold, 
All  baser  love  into  its  fold, 
A  love  that  brighter,  purer  grows, 
Through  all  of  life's  sad,  bitter  throes, 


A  love  that's  given  to  the  few, 
That  bides  its  time,  some  good  to  do; 
All  God  had  purposed  they  command, 
Some  step  in  progress  by  their  hand, 
Thus  Po-ca-hon-tas'  life  was  made, 
To  fit  the  grooves  that  wisdom  laid. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

But  the  storm  of  jealousy  grew, 
Grew  while  its  victim  little  knew 
Of  all  the  plans  Pow-ha-tan  laid 
To  take  him  captive  while  he  staid, 
How  Oll-a-pach-chee  urged  the  chief 
To  take  his  life  for  his  belief. 


So  pressed  was  king  on  every  side, 
He  called  a  council  far  and  wide, 
Then  took  the  paleface  for  a  spy, 
And  calmly  told  him,  he  must  die. 
Picked  out  two  braves  with  hideous  face, 
To  take  his  life  at  'pointed  place. 

In  view  of  all  the  council  there, 
In  midst  of  grand  old  forest  fair, 
He  hears  the  songbird  trilling  near, 
Its  answering  mate  calling  so  clear, 
Smells  the  wild  bloom  pressed  by  his  feet, 
Ah!    Thus  to  die,  when  life's  so  sweet. 

Po-ca-hon-tas  saw  him  led  past, 
And  her  heart  beat  wild  and  fast, 
Watched  them  cruel  place  his  head, 
Lift  their  clubs.    See!    She  has  fled, 
On  his  form  has  thrown  her  own, 
Round  his  neck  with  tearful  moan 
She  has  clasped  both  of  her  arms, 
Shielding  him  from  all  their  harms. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Back!    Back!    Ye  wolves,  ye  dogs  of  prey! 

Back  vultures!    Watching  night  and  day 

For  remnants  of  the  Panther's  play, 

Let  fall  your  arms,  nor  seek  to  slay, 

Yon  captive,  friendless  and  alone, 

Ugh!    Where  has  redman's  honor  flown? 


Why  come  ye  here  in  war  paint  gay, 
To  council,  then  with  death  to  play? 
Ugh!    Oll-a-pach-chee's   secret   word 
Has  woke  these  thoughts  and  evil  stirred. 
Brave  chieftain,  spare  the  captive's  life, 
Oh,  stop  this  wrong  and  end  the  strife. 


Let  the  Great  Spirit  work  His  will, 
Your  hearts  with  love  and  pity  fill. 
The  chieftain  hears  the  maiden's  plea, 
His  heart  is  softened!    He  can  see, 
His  warriors  too  have  kinder  thought, 
The  maid  has  gained  the  wish  she  sought. 


Not  only  shall  the  paleface  stay, 

But  he  may  teach  thee  every  day 

Until  the  ship  reaches  this  shore, 

That  takes  him  back  to  home  once  more. 

Thus  Pow-ha-tan  spake,  and  spared, 

His  life.    These  thoughts  his  warriors  shared. 

16 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

He  saw  his  warriors  loved  his  child, 
This  sweet  young  bloom  of  woodland  wild, 
They  loved  her  form,  her  rich  black  hair, 
Her  flashing  eye,  her  queenly  air, 
For  every  heart  she  had  some  word 
That  through  its  depths  was  kindness  stirred. 


The  days  now  flew  on  sunny  wings, 
He  taught  her,  Oh,  so  many  things. 
Things  how  they  did  in  his  homeland, 
Told  her  how  maidens  dressed  and  planned. 
Told  her  about  the  king  and  queen, 
And  taught  her  love  at  times  between. 


Ah!    Childish  heart  you  little  knew 
All  God  had  purposed  you  should  do, 
Through  this  sweet  gift  of  love  was  sent, 
A  rise  in  progress,  a  betterment 
For  all  the  future  redman's  race, 
Through  mingling  blood  with  the  paleface. 


'Twas  well  God  veiled  the  coming  years, 
'Twas  well  you  saw  not  all  the  tears, 
The  disappointments  you  must  bear, 
The  stoic  face  that  you  must  wear 
Though  heart  was  breaking  with  despair 
From  taunts  and  sneers  and  troubled  care. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

But  sunny  days  will  pass  at  last, 
The  sky  with  clouds  be  overcast, 
So  these  bright  days  for  both  did  end, 
The  parting  came  'twixt  friend  and  friend. 
The  "Ocean  Bird"  was  moored  once  more, 
Close  by  the  cliffs,  close  to  the  shore. 


One  hailed  the  sight  with  eager  cheer, 
One  saw  it  there  with  trembling  fear, 
Hons-ta-ma-tha,  saw  the  waking, 
Saw  the  heart  in  silence  breaking, 
Tried  to  calm  the  troubled  heartache, 
He  knew  she  suffered  for  his  sake. 


Counted  the  moons  for  his  return, 
Told  her  how  he  would  think  and  yearn 
To  see  the  happy,  happy  day, 
When  he  would  come  to  always  stay; 
Her  own  true  brave,  he'd  yield  his  life 
E'er  he  would  fail  to  call  her  wife. 


And  thus  they  part.    Moons  full  and  wane, 
And  seasons  come  and  come  again, 
And  years  do  lie  like  leaden  weight, 
O'er  Po-ca-hon-tas'   lonely  fate; 
A  lonely  watcher  by  the  shore, 
Watching  for  one  who  came  no  more. 

18 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Through  added  years  with  glad  surprise, 

She  sees  the  paleface  cities  rise 

On  every  side,  in  every  place, 

Some  handiwork  of  theirs  could  trace; 

And  through  it  all  her  loving  heart 

Stands  oft  'twixt  hate  to  take  their  part. 


For  this  to  save  her  life  she  fled, 
To  the  paleface's  home  her  footsteps  led, 
Seeking  their  shelter  and  their  care 
From  all  the  wrongs  her  own  race  dare. 
Thus  she  was  led  by  unseen  hand, 
Into  new  fields  for  her  command. 


And  he  who  spurned  the  sweet,  wild  gift 
To  help  progression  and  to  lift 
From  semi-darkness  a  crude  race, 
Shall  somewhere,  somehow  have  to  face 
The  gem  he  lost,  bright  as  the  sun, 
When  God  through  her  His  work  has  done. 


Let  him  who  scorns  a  humble  birth 
Read  how  progression  leads  the  Earth, 
And  though  they  obstacles  do  throw, 
To  hold  it  back,  the  stream  will  flow 
To  other  lives  patient  and  sweet, 
Whose  work  through  them  his  law  will  meet. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

All  the  white  race  loved  the  maiden 
With  her  heart  so  heavy  laden, 
Knew  for  them  she'd  braved  the  strife, 
Knew  for  them  she'd  risked  her  life, 
And  their  homes  was  open  wide, 
Where  she  was  welcome  to  abide. 


For  life  seemed  perilled  on  every  side, 
Her  heart  deceived,  her  patience  tried, 
Her  grief  so  hard  so  sore  to  bear, 
She  cannot  tell  it  anywhere, 
Only  in  the  Great  Spirit's  ear 
Can  she  whisper  her  grief  and  fear. 

But  grief  in  time  will  wear  away 
'Mid  other  scenes  and  gayety, 
This  Po-ca-hon-tas  found  was  true, 
Among  her  paleface  friends,  who  drew 
Her  mind  and  heart  from  troubled  pain 
To  brighter  fields  of  life  again. 


*  Wa-ta-gei-nee,  a  soldier  brave, 
First  pitied  her,  then  love  he  gave, 
Sought  her  hand  in  wedlock  too, 
Told  her  his  love  was  really  true; 
Soothed  all  the  sorrows  past  with  bliss, 
Through  tales  of  coming  happiness. 

*  Indian  name  for  John  Rolfe. 


20 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  so  to  her  there  came  a  joy, 

A  happiness  without  alloy, 

And  though  she  loved  the  new  the  best, 

The  old  would  wake  within  her  breast 

To  toll  the  bells  of  memory, 

A  sad  requiem,  'mid  pleasantry. 


Ring  out  ye  bells,  ye  wedding  bells, 
Fill  all  the  woods,  fill  all  the  dells, 
Let  all  the  birds  with  sweet-voiced  song, 
Join  with  the  echoes  the  sound  prolong. 
Ring  joyful  bells  of  Jamestown  gay, 
This  is  the  Princess'  wedding-day. 


The  wedding-day  has  come  at  last, 
While  all  the  clouds  seem  to  have  passed; 
All  of  the  town  is  set  to  rights, 
That  all  may  come  to  view  the  sights. 
The  church  is  filled  with  perfume  wild, 
On  every  side  the  flowers  are  piled. 


The  Governor  with  suite  attend, 
And  all  the  people  come  as  a  friend; 
Pow-ha-tan  and  his  household  too, 
With  all  his  braves  loyal  and  true, 
Each  bears^a  gift,  a  box  of  gold, 
With  title  deeds  of  lands  unsold. 


21 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

And  all  the  strife  is  laid  aside, 
When  Wa-ta-gei-nee  claims  his  bride, 
A  treaty  made  that  calls  for  peace, 
Calls  for  all  warfare  now  to  cease. 
A  bond  is  wielded  true  and  strong, 
That  he  who  breaks  must  answer  wrong. 


The  bride  wore  silk  of  emerald  hue, 
'Broidered  with  beads  like  drops  of  dew; 
With  leaves  of  gold  worked  in  with  thread, 
A  band  of  same  worn  round  the  head, 
A  belt  of  gold  and  gems  most  rare, 
While  scarlet  plumes  drooped  from  the  hair. 


These  with  a  chain  and  bracelets  two, 
With  rings  and  shoes  to  match  in  hue, 
With  costly  veil  like  morning  mist 
That  hangs  o'er  mountain-top  just  kissed; 
The  brow,  as  sunlight  wakes  the  day, 
To  scare  the  shadows  all  away. 


The  groom  attired  like  cavalier, 
In  courtly  dress  a  royal  peer, 
With  sword  and  buckler  by  his  side, 
A  contrast  stood  beside  his  bride. 
The  love  light  springing  from  his  eyes, 
A  love  that  time  and  death  defies. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

The  hands  are  joined,  the  service  read, 
Husband  and  wife  the  words  are  said; 
Husband  and  wife  pronounced  so  clear, 
The  kingly  chief  Pow-ha-tan  hears, 
And  in  his  heart  rose  kingly  pride, 
To  see  his  child  a  paleface's  bride. 


Thus  progress  sooths  all  natures  wild, 
Leads  them  through  ways  loving  and  mild, 
Caring  for  each  through  darkness  led, 
With  milk  and  honey  oft  she  fed, 
From  Wisdom's  fount,  a  waking  light 
That  helped  them  on  to  paths  more  bright. 


As  Earth  does  hold  within  its  breast, 
A  reconstructive  true  process, 
So  progress  in  the  darkest  mind, 
Shall  reconstruct  all  error  blind ; 
It  may  be  slow  or  rapid  flight, 
But  still  in  time  'twill  win  the  fight. 


Come  to  the  feast,  the  wedding  feast, 
Come  rich  and  poor,  come  great  and  least, 
On  Governor's  hill  the  feast  is  spread, 
And  all  of  Jamestown  welcome  fed. 
Then  o'er  the  wave  on  ocean's  tide, 
Wa-ta-gei-nee  takes  his  queenly  bride 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

To  England's  shore,  land  of  the  sun, 
The  royal  home  of  paleface  nation; 
She  meets  the  queen,  she  meets  the  king, 
She  sees  the  cities,  sees  everything. 
But  Hons-ta-ma-tha  comes  not  near, 
To  welcome  her  'midst  all  this  cheer. 


He  should  have  been  the  first  to  greet, 
The  first  to  welcome,  the  first  to  meet 
This  true-tried  friend,  Ma-to-a-ka, 
This  friend  who  saved  his  life  one  day; 
The  maid  whose  heart  he  stole  away 
To  cast  aside  for  some  new  play. 


This  treatment  brought  an  added  weight 
To  Po-ca-hon-tas'  regal  state; 
She  marvelled  what  the  cause  could  be, 
Was  mystified  as  time  did  flee. 
'Twas  hard  to  think  him  false,  untrue, 
Though  he  had  broken  faith  she  knew. 


The  years  have  lapsed,  a  joy  most  fair 
Has  come  into  their  home  for  care, 
A  bright-eyed  daughter  baby  girl, 
With  blue'st  eyes,  with  sunny  curl; 
A  precious  gift,  so  dainty,  sweet, 
Her  life  is  filled  with  joy  complete. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  motherhood  now  doubly  blessed, 
In  this  new  joy  finds  a  sweet  rest 
Watching  the  dawning  intellect, 
Which  she  must  now  work  to  protect, 
And  lead  along  so  carefully, 
From  wonderment  to  reality. 


A  pale-faced  baby!    Oh,  how  blest, 
Of  all  her  joys  this  is  the  best; 
A  gift  from  heaven  so  wisely  sent, 
To  fill  the  place  that  sorrow  rent. 
And  all  her  energies  combined, 
Shall  work  the  plans  that  progress  lined. 


Yet  oft  amid  these  grand,  new  ways, 
Her  heart  goes  back  to  childhood's  days, 
Her  forest  home  canopied  with  green, 
The  wild- wood  bloom  hid  'neath  the  screen; 
The  song  of  birds  by  the  woodland  trail, 
The  thrush,  the  robin  and  the  nightingale. 


The  whip-poor-will  in  the  thicket  copse, 
The  wise  old  owl  in  the  tree  tops; 
The  hares  and  squirrels,  the  dear  things, 
All  these  to  the  exile  memory  brings; 
The  rivers  and  brooks  gliding  away, 
The  cataracts  leap  with  foamy  spray. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

The  valleys  and  plains  and  mountains  high, 
Where  the  grand  old  eagles  love  to  fly, 
The  fiery  steed  with  nostrils  wide 
Which  none  but  a  redman  dare  to  ride; 
The  hunt  and  the  chase  so  wild  and  free, 
These  with  her  own  she  longs  to  see. 


She  would  take  her  way  back  o'er  the  sea, 
For  the  pomps  of  life  set  wearily; 
She  loves  it  though,  this  upward  way, 
But  her  thoughts  to  the  old  will  stray, 
And  Wa-ta-gei-nee  wishful  to  please, 
Will  take  her  back,  her  heart  to  ease. 


Yet,  ere  she  goes  she  must  try  to  find 
Hons-ta-ma-tha,  and  friendship  bind, 
Heal  all  the  difference  if  she  could, 
For  the  sake  of  the  old  time  brotherhood. 
But  when  they  meet  his  careless  tone 
Tells  her  his  friendly  love  has  flown. 


Down  at  his  feet  kneeling  she  pleads 
To  know  the  cause  of  scorn  she  reads; 
But  jestingly,  he  there  denies 
That  any  difference  underlies 
His  treatment.    And  covertly  tries 
To  make  her  understand  'twas  pride 
Of  birth,  that  kept  him  from  her  side. 


26 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

She  saw,  she  heard!    Her  dark  cheek  flushed, 

Her  heart  beats  wild,  as  life  blood  rushed 

Like  a  tumultuous  torrent 

That  rain  clouds  down  a  gorge  has  sent. 

Proudly  erect  with  queenly  grace, 

She  speaks  these  words  with  ashen  face: 

Farewell,  my  friend!    My  work  is  done, 

I  leave  this  land  of  Morning  Sun, 

To  cross  the  sea,  the  ocean  wave, 

To  my  own  home,  where  Redman  brave 

Would  stand  all  torture  rather  than  show 

Ingratitude:    Farewell,  I  go. 

Weeping,  she  turns  back  to  her  home, 
Where  loved  ones  watch  to  see  her  come, 
But  the  proud  spirit  is  rent  in  twain, 
The  wounded  bird  sings  never  again; 
And  e'er  they  leave  to  cross  the  wave, 
Her  spirit  returns  to  God  who  gave. 

Ring  out  ye  bells,  ring  sad  and  slow 
Let  all  of  Jamestown  hear  and  know 
A  gentle  spirit  has  passed  away, 
To  the  great  beyond,  where  all  must  stray 
When  life  is  o'er.     The  good,  the  bad. 
Ring  out  ye  bells !    Toll  slow  and  sad. 


27 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Say  gentle  spirit  dost  thou  ever  come, 
To  visit  the  scenes  of  thy  lost  home? 
If  so  'tis  planned,  you  surely  see 
How  wisdom  helped  progress  through  thee, 
Though  bitter  mingled  with  the  sweet, 
Thy  work  was  well,  t  hy  work  complete. 


Thy  deeds  of  love,  thy  gentle  ways, 
Shall  all  be  sung  by  thy  posterity, 
While  on  the  leaves  of  thy  history's  page 
The  proudest  shall  trace  their  lineage. 
But  he  who  turned  thy  love  away 
His  name,  be  lost  in  time's  obliquity. 


Among  the  names  that  history  brings, 
Of  Legends  old,  or  poets  sing, 
None  has  a  richer  melody, 
Or  sadder  pathos  of  that  day 
Than  this  sweet  tale  of  human  play. 
Where  hate  and  love,  and  passions  sway, 
Wove  thread  by  thread,  with  warp  and  woof, 
A  tale  of  marvellous  love  and  truth. 

NETTIE  PARRISH  MARTIN. 
Auburn,  March  30th,  1903. 


THE  ONEIDAS. 


Within  a  forest's  sheltered  glade, 
Close  beside  a  rippling  stream, 

Where  moss  rich  tapestry  o'er  laid 

The  earth  and  rocks  with  richest  green, 


Lived  a  chieftain  among  his  braves, 
A  noble  clan  of  freedom's  sons, 

Her  first-born  progeny.  Not  slaves 
But  men  whose  intellect  there  clung 


To  all  the  spirit  part  and  paved 
The  way  to  a  higher,  nobler  life. 

'Twas  thus  they  ever  sought  and  craved 
The  Spirit's  help  thro'  mysteries  rife. 


Content  with  all  He  seeming  gave, 
Of  joy,  of  sorrow,  death  or  life. 

Nor  would  they  brook  to  be  the  slave 
Of  cultured  progress'  fettered  strife. 


29 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Moved  by  a  spirit-power  unseen, 
They  live  and  spend  each  night  and  day 

Without  a  care.    And  learn  to  lean 
(To  let  time  bring  what  e'er  it  may.) 


And  ask  for  all  their  yearning  wants, 
Of  Him  who  feeds  the  spirit  part, 

Unconscious  that  these  sheltered  haunts 
Have  brought  them  here  near  God's  own  heart. 


They  ever  see  Him  in  each  leaf, 

In  flower,  in  the  bright  water's  play, 

The  thunder's  voice  is  Spirit  Chief, 
Speaking  to  them  in  mystic  way. 


The  sun,  the  moon,  the  bright  stars  course, 
Like  pictured  book  unfolds  to  them 

The  Great  Spirit's  majestic  force, 
That  planned  all  these  for  mortal  man. 


THEIR  SIGNS. 

Thus  children  of  this  coistered  vale, 
They  learn  to  know  the  seasons'  call. 

For  when  the  Maize  its  golden  veil, 
Of  many  leaves  like  covered  ball 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Hangs  heavy  on  its  upward  stalk, 
Then  winter's  snows  will  higher  creep, 

And  when  the  blackbird  and  the  hawk, 
In  countless  numbers  fly  and  keep 


A  southward  flight,  then  winter's  nigh; 

And  Bruin  when  his  shadow  sees, 
Turns  back  with  momentary  sigh, 

To  take  a  six  weeks'  longer  ease. 


'Tis  then  their  food  they  careful  hoard 
For  spring  is  still  a  long  way  off. 

When  beaver  builds  low  down  the  ford, 
Then  winter  soon  her  snows  will  doff. 


The  crescent  moon  in  silver  tint 
Holds  all  the  rain  if  horn  is  bent 

But  if  it  downward  hangs  'tis  hint 
That  all  she  holds  to  earth  is  sent. 


And  thus  each  hunter  knows  the  sign 
That  Luna  smiling  sends  to  earth. 

'Tis  time  to  hunt  for  prey  she  shines, 
Then  blushing  red  foretells  a  dearth. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

All  this  they  learn,  apt  scholars  they, 
In  Nature's  book.  A  simple  folk, 

Whose  life  of  freedom  a  perfect  day, 
Untrammelled  by  a  bondsman's  yoke. 


True  sons  of  Honor's  high  estate, 
Thy  vet'rans  are  in  chivalry, 

And  quickly  learn  to  estimate 
The  good  in  all  this  quickened  clay. 


And  he  who  dare  diverge  the  line 
Hath  hurt  himself  beyond  repute. 

For  thus  he  shows  a  brutish  mind, 
That  hath  not  known  the  Spirit's  care. 


Ah!  homeland  of  a  noble  race 

That  once  roamed  thro'  these  glades  and  hills, 
A  pale-face  nation  owns  thy  place, 

With  minds  attuned  as  progress  wills. 


And  Nature  here  can  find  no  place 
Where  she  can  hold  a  close  commune, 

Nor  in  these  scenes  can  hardly  trace, 
What  once  she  called  her  very  own. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Here  forests  grand,  stately  and  old, 
Have  vanished  like  a  dream, 

And  in  their  place  are  fields  of  gold, 
Whose  nodding  heads  with  riches  teem. 


These  waters  that  went  sparkling  free, 
Are  yoked  and  bound  by  progress'  chain, 

And  made  to  bear  prosperity, 

Where'er  she  wills  and  all  her  gain. 


The  brute  creation  lingered  still, 
After  the  redman's  rapid  flight, 

But  paleface  brought  with  him  a  will 
And  now  they  too  have  passed  from  sight. 


Only  a  burial  mound  remains, 
Only  a  remnant  of  some  wood, 

Or  some  wild  flower,  blooming  again, 
Bears  witness  in  its  solitude. 


But  though  the  redman  passed  away, 
Many  a  legend  tale  is  told, 

For  love  forsooth  held  sceptered  sway, 
And  garnered  all  their  secrets  old. 


33 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Many  a  winter's  storm  hath  heaped 
Its  snows  upon  a  grand  dame's  grave, 

But  still  her  story  ages  keep, 
And  passing  generations  save. 


Sometimes  a  bloody  massacre, 

Would  send  the  chills  down  to  our  feet. 

But  when  this  tale  we'd  coax  of  her, 
We  listened  then  our  joy  complete. 


Perhaps  'twere  fiction  made  to  please, 
A  childish  restlessness  to  tame. 

But  yet  through  all  the  years  it  sees, 
They  each  and  all  tell  it  the  same. 


And  thus  the  misty  ages  bring 
Adown  the  slope  of  passing  time, 

A  record  that  with  myst'ries  ring, 
A  name  of  richest  legendary. 


'Twas  thus  it  ran,  one  of  the  clans 
Or  tribes  as  redmen  call  their  brood, 

Had  long  known  want  and  idle  hands 
Had  weakly  grown  for  lack  of  food. 


34 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Oh-gee-chee,  chief  of  this  one  clan, 
Sought  the  Great  Spirit  for  His  help, 

But  still  fierce  hunger  thro'  the  land, 
Blighted  all  hope  and  havoc  made. 


The  cold  intense  had  settled  down, 
And  ice  had  glued  each  sparkling  wave, 

And  deer  and  game  found  other  ground, 
To  furnish  all  their  longings  crave. 


In  the  wigwam  sat  Na-has-sett, 
With  her  last-born  upon  her  lap, 

All  day  he  moaned  for  food;  and  yet 
When  night  her  mantle  wrapped, 


He  moaning  fell  asleep;  nor  waked 
For  very  weariness;  but  slept. 

Na-has-sett's  heart  within  her  quacked, 
For  fear  the  night  Oh-gee-chee  kept 


Far  from  his  home  pursuing  game, 
And  morn  would  tell  once  more  the  tale. 

With  each  succeeding  night  the  same, 
His  hunt  for  food  and  succor  fail. 


35 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Kneeling  outside  the  wigwam  door, 
She  fearful  asks  the  Spirit's  care. 

When  through  the  trail  came  bounding  o'er. 
A  wounded  deer,  and  answered  prayer, 


Dying  beside  her  prostrate  form. 

And  then  Oh-gee-chee,  panting  bore 
A  pale-face  child  he  saved  from  harm, 

And  laid  it  on  the  wigwam  floor. 


And  this  the  tale  the  chieftain  told. 

He  wandered  far  along  the  chase, 
Till  in  the  west  the  sun  like  gold, 

Departing  threw  its  beams  thro'  space 


And  touched  the  heavy  draperies 

Of  clouds,  that  banked  the  western  sky 

With  broad  light  bands  of  golden  rays, 
That  purpled  crimsoned  far  and  high. 


He  set  him  down  beneath  a  cliff, 

Faint  and  weak  from  his  long  fasting, 

When  far  above  thro'  rock-worn  rift, 
He  saw  an  eagle  homeward  wing 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Its  way  to  where  the  rock  was  cleft; 

And  then  he  saw  he  bore  some  food 
To  nourish  those  at  home  he  left, 

High  on  the  rock  his  eagle  brood. 


'Twas  then  desire  nerved  his  arm, 
He  thought  of  those  he  left  at  home. 

And  thus  he  counted  it  no  harm, 
To  make  them  all  his  very  own. 


He  climbed  the  rock.     There  in  the  light 
Beside  the  screeching  eagles  wild 

With  clothes  all  torn,  convulsed  with  fright, 
He  saw  with  pain  a  pale-face  child. 


Within  his  hand  he  grasped  a  stone, 
As  if  he  questioned  there  his  might, 

The  yielding  up,  his  life  alone 
Without  some  struggle  for  the  right. 


Seizing  the  boy  from  farther  harm, 
He  vanquished  all  his  eagle  foes. 

Then  wrapping  him  in  blanket  warm 
He  down  the  icy  mountain  goes. 


37 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

The  sun  which  lingered  all  this  while, 
Now  threw  one  gleam  of  crimson  gold 

O'er  mountain  peak  thro'  sharp  defile, 
Then  sank  to  rest  its  mission  told. 


Oh-gee-chee  felt  'twas  Spirit  care 
That  led  him  to  that  eyerie  nest. 

And  felt  the  Spirit  wished  him  share, 
His  worldly  goods  with  all  the  rest. 


'Twas  thus  this  child-like  faith  and  trust, 
Held  sway  o'er  vulgar  passion's  play. 

And  softened  all  those  savage  lusts, 
Where  confidence  confiding  lay. 


Oh-gee-chee  now  with  troubled  fear, 
Went  speeding  o'er  the  homeward  trail, 

When  cross  the  gorge  he  sees  a  deer, 
Standing  outlined  in  daylight  pale 


Against  the  snow-white  rock. — He  sees, 
And  then  his  arrow  speeding  brings 

A  low  sad  wail.     It  madly  flees 

Far  down  the  trail,  and  hoofbeats  ring. 

38 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  flecks  of  blood  Oh-gee-chee  sees 
On  crusted  snow;  tell  plainly  there 

The  evil  spirit  is  appeased, 

The  God  of  plenty  answered  prayer. 


Oh-gee-chee  bade  Na-has-sett  care 
And  dress  the  little  white  boy's  wounds. 

For  his  coming  brought  good  luck  there, 
And  they  must  keep  him  many  moons. 


The  good  squaw  then  took  eagles'  meat  * 
And  dressed  his  wounds  so  fearful  deep, 

And  gave  the  paleface  food  to  eat, 
Then  hushed  his  sobs  he  fell  asleep. 


When  o'er  the  earth  again  'twas  day, 
Otisco  moaning  cryin'  woke. 

Sees  the  boy  and  cries:  Oh!  Nei-da 
Nei-da.  Oh!  Nei-da,  thus  he  spoke. 


Then  clasp  his  little  hands  with  glee, 

His  very  woe  forgot  in  joy, 
To  see  a  mate  though  strange  he  be, 

And  thus  he  named  the  pale-face  boy. 

*  Bite  of  the  same  dog  cures  the  wound.     (An  old  Indian 
proverb.) 


39 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

*  Oncida  clung  (nor  would  he  part), 
Through  all  his  troubled  dreaming  rest, 

Close  to  the  stone,  pressed  to  his  heart, 
The  one  he  had  in  eagle's  nest, 


As  if  to  him  some  strength  it  lent, 
To  succor  him  in  time  of  need. 

Oh-gee-chee  said  the  Spirit  sent 
The  stone  as  charm  his  life  to  lead. 


The  sun  'woke  warm  o'er  all  the  earth, 
And  thawed  the  ice  on  limb  and  tree, 

While  little  rivers  full  of  mirth, 

Ran  reckless  downward,  wild  and  free. 


Oh-gee-chee  shared  his  meat  with  all, 
For  hunters  still  were  far  from  home. 

But  ere  the  night  had  spread  her  pall, 
They  to  the  camp  with  plenty  come. 


Hunger's  appeased  and  all  is  joy, 

They  dance  with  wild  hilarity 
And  vow  allegiance  to  the  boy 

Whose  coming  brought  prosperity. 

*  Oh-nei-da,  one  tradition  says,  was  a  French  word  for  Oh! 
nice,  and  the  Indians  perverted  it  by  calling  things  nieta 
Oneida. 


40 


OP  EARLY  DAYS. 

O-nei-da  grew  in  strength  each  day, 
And  child-like  soon  forgot  his  woes. 

'Mid  all  this  stirring,  wild,  new  way, 
In  fact  he  learned  to  like  it  so. 


At  length  he  came  to  man's  estate, 
Loved  by  Oh-gee-chee  as  his  son, 

Otisco  shared  his  every  fate, 
What  one  proposed  the  other  done. 


Like  duckling  reared  by  clucking  hen, 
A  fault  in  them  he  could  not  see. 

Until  his  kind  he  saw  and  then 
There  'woke  a  true  affinity. 


Where  peril  was  he  bravely  went, 
Nor  ever  thought  of  cringing  fear. 

His  manly  strength  was  cheerful  lent, 
To  succor  those  to  him  most  dear. 


'Twas  he  whose  speeding  arrow  gave 

To  chief  the  finest  of  all  game. 
'Twas  he  who  fearless  rode  to  save, 

Through  war,  and  mercy  showed  the  same. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Now  lapse  of  years  had  brought  no  change 
Except  the  good  Na-has-sett's  death. 

But  in  her  place  a  paleface  strange, 
Filled  part  the  void  her  dying  left. 


From  o'er  the  waters  where  the  sun 
Did  seem  to  leap  from  morning  bath, 

And  dp  each  crested  wave  when  done, 
With  burnished  gold  along  its  path, 


A  vessel  sped  rocked  by  the  wave 
Rode  safely  to  her  destiny. 

And  safely  to  the  new  world  gave, 
A  gleam  of  light  of  dawning  day. 


Good  Father  Hermann,  priest  and  friend, 
By  German  mission  here  was  sent. 

To  labor  and  perhaps  to  spend 
The  residue  of  life  content. 


He  came  among  the  Iroquois 

And  found  Oh-gee-chee  kind  and  true. 
And  here  he  found  these  brave  young  boys, 

He  taught  them  how  to  live  and  do. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Good  Hermann  was  a  godly  man 

A   pattern   of   humility. 
He  sought  to  make  them  understand 

The  plan  of  true  divinity. 


'Twas  thus  the  seed  its  good  fruit  bore, 
O-nei-da  gave  to  God  his  heart, 

He  listened  to  good  Hermann  more, 
And  trusting  strove  to  do  his  part. 


Otisco  more  from  habit  came, 
Because  O-nei-da  wished  him  go. 

And  soon  he  loved  the  word  the  same 
The  truth  he  learned  to  know. 


When  evening  shadows  deepened  nigh, 
And  tired  earth  seemed  'bout  to  sleep, 

When  the  dear  birdies  home  would  fly, 
And  moon  and  stars  would  softly  creep, 


O-nei-da  found  a  restful  peace, 
Sitting  beside  his  new-found  friend, 

Till  every  forest  sound  would  cease, 

Charmed  with  each  word  he  uttered  thenT 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

LOVE. 

Ofttimes  we  think  we  each  do  know, 
Just  what  the  day  to  us  will  bring. 

But  ere  at  night  to  rest  we  go, 
We  find  a  change  in  many  things. 

Perhaps  'twere  sorrow's  crushing  blow, 
Perhaps  'twere  joy  beyond  all  thought. 

Perhaps  a  friend  turned  to  a  foe, 
Yet  time  these  changes  oft  has  wrought. 

CHANGES. 

O-nei-da  and  Otisco  went, 
As  wont  to  hunt  for  rabbit  meat. 

And  as  their  luck  increased  it  lent 
A  fresh  impetus  to  their  feet. 

They  wandered  far  away  from  home, 
Within  the  thickest  of  the  wood, 

Enchanted  by  the  sport  they  roam, 
Lured  by  the  perfect  solitude. 

At  length  they  come  upon  a  scene, 
A  village  standing  by  a  stream, 

O'ershadowed  by  gray  rocks  that  lean 
To  shelter  all  below;  and  seem 


44 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

To  guard  the  place  with  watchful  eye, 
And  frown  upon  intrusion  there. 

Here  trailing  vines  in  richness  lie 
On  rock  and  bank  in  beauty  fair. 


Making  this  spot  a  fairyland, 

The  very  place  that  love  would  see. 

For  beauty  grows  where  love  commands, 
And  Nature  paints  exquisitely. 


WIN-NEE-OCK-EE-LES. 


And  thus  they  meet  beneath  the  trees, 
Where  love  sat  smiling  at  his  ease, 

A  Mohawk  maid  as  pure  and  free 
As  flower,  Win-nee-ock-ee-les. 


Quick  as  a  flash  their  hearts  have  flown, 
Forth  from  their  eyes  to  meet  her  own. 

A  joy  exquisite  never  known, 

Hides  the  arrow  by  Cupid  thrown. 


She  bids  them  to  her  lodge  repair, 
To  rest  their  every  weariness, 

To  meet  her  aged  father  there, 
Good  Tus-ga-wee-ga  as  his  guest. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

SECRETS. 

A  night  has  passed,  a  day  has  fled, 
And  still  they  linger  many  days, 

Lured  by  the  maid  who  charming  led 
Them  both  along  love's  pleasant  ways. 

O-nei-da  seeks  to  hide  his  love, 
From  brave  Otisco's  searching  eyes. 

Otisco  knows  the  cooing  dove, 
Loves  him  and  all  he  does  and  tries. 

At  last  they  part  and  both  believe 
That  he's  the  favored  suitor  sure, 

Of  sweet  Win-nee-ock-ee-les, 
Ah!  thus  did  Cupid  ever  lure. 

EDEN. 

Centuries  have  brought  a  story  long 
From  the  first  Eden  forest  home, 

Where  Mother  Eve  thought  it  no  wrong 
To  talk  and  flirt  with  more  than  one. 

But  Adam  as  the  story's  told, 
Had  eyes  for  only  Mother  Eve. 

And  here  is  where  love  first  enrolled 
And  earth  her  lesson  first  receives. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Perhaps  'twere  virtue  wisely  blessed, 

To  keep  and  hold  maternity, 
But  this  we  know  and  guess  the  rest, 

True  love  fits  earth  most  charmingly. 

There  may  be  times  love's  indiscreet, 
For  Satan  steals  in  love's  retreat, 

And  smoothly  works  his  wiles  so  sweet, 
He  sometimes  finds  virtue  asleep. 

DIFFERENCES. 

And  now  there  came  between  the  two 
A  something  hard  to  understand, 

And  where  they  used  to  think  and  do 
The  same,  they  sadly  seemed  estranged. 

THE  VISIT. 

Time  passed  and  spring  had  come  once  more, 
Then  Tus-ga-wee-ga  left  his  door, 

Taking  fair  Win-nee-ock-ee-les,   . 
And  journeyed  west  the  maid  to  please. 

He  came  to  visit  Oh-gee-chee, 

To  have  a  little  friendly  chat, 
About  a  future  chief;  and  see 

If  he  would  give  advice  'bout  that. 


47 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

For  he  was  old  and  soon  must  go 
To  the  Great  Spirit's  hunting  ground, 

And  he  would  like  if  it  'twere  so, 
That  either  brave  had  favor  found 


With  the  sweet  Win-nee-ock-ee-les, 
And  he  would  give  him  land  and  brave. 

For  this  would  make  his  heart  at  ease, 
E're  he  was  sleeping  in  the  grave. 


A   PROBLEM. 


Oh-gee-chee's  heart  beat  fast  with  pride, 
For  here  came  honor  to  his  fold, 

As  it  was  known  both  far  and  wide, 
That  he  was  rich  in  land  and  gold. 


Oh-gee-chee  thought  and  thought  and  thought, 
So  many  vexious  questions  came. 

At  length  the  Spirit  came  and  taught, 
To  let  the  maiden  tell  the  name. 


And  so  he  bade  him  tarry  'while 
To  let  the  Spirit  work  its  will, 

And  make  the  maiden's  loving  smile, 
The  chosen  one,  with  lovt;  to  fill. 


48 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  now  they  waited  day  by  day 
And  let  fair  youth  have  its  own  way, 

To  solve  the  problem  as  it  may, 
While  love  is  busy  with  its  play. 


JEALOUSY. 


At  length  there  came  as  always  comes, 
A  time  when  one  was  tortured  deep, 

Where  love  had  been  rage  found  a  home 
And  jealousy  its  secrets  keep. 


One  afternoon  O-tis-co  spied 
O-nei-da  and  the  maiden  fair 

Sitting  and  talking  side  by  side 
Within  a  leafy  bower  there. 


He  saw  the  smile  that  lit  her  eyes, 
That  beamed  and  rippled  o'er  her  face, 

He  saw  her  bosom  heave  and  rise, 
Her  hand  within  O-nei-da's  place. 


At  once  there  came  a  lack,  a  dearth, 
He  seems  to  be  so  strangely  old, 

All  joy  is  gone,  there  is  no  mirth, 

The  earth  to  him  seems  void  and  cold. 


49 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

And  as  he  watched  there  came  within 
A  strange  new  light,  startling  but  true, 

And  thus  it  seemed  to  say  to  him, 
'Tis  he  she  loves  it  is  not  you. 


And  then  he  walks  and  talks  thro'  night, 
Through  all  the  thickest  shadowed  light 

Meets  O-nei-da  with  heart  aright 
Seeking  good  Hermann  to  invite 


And  ask  him  tie  the  nuptial  knot. 

He  sees  O-tis-co  walking  there, 
With  heated  brow  and  anger  hot, 

Who  in  this  'vengeful  spirit  dare 


To  strike  his  rival.    He  forgot 

All  else.     Should  once  the  blow  be  dealt, 
And  while  the  arm  was  lifted  not, 

O-nei-da  saw  and  pity  felt. 


He  tried  to  pacify  his  would-be  foe, 
"O-tis-co  brother,  stay  thy  hand, 
If  thou  must  deal  the  blow 
That  sends  me  to  the  spirit  land, 

5° 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

We'll  part  in  peace.    You  I  forgive, 
And  here  beneath  these  moonlit  trees, 

I  give  my  blessing  while  I  live 
And  leave  you  Win-nee-ock-ee-les." 

THE  SPIRIT'S  CARE. 

The  hands  dropped  weak;  he  could  not  deal 

The  blow  to  one  who  loving  gave 
His  own  true  life  a  breach  to  heal, 

And  would  not  try  his  life  to  save. 

"O-nei-da  can  you  me  forgive, 
When  here  beneath  these  forest  trees 

I  sought  thy  life  that  I  might  live 
To  win  fair  Win-nee-ock-ee-les  ?" 

(O-nei-da.) 

"O-tis-co,  brother,  why  this  wrong, 

'Tis  spirit  of  some  evil  one, 
Have  we  not  loved  each  other  long? 

Speak,  brother  speak,  what  would'st  thou  done  ?" 

REMORSE. 
(O-tis-co:) 

"The  redman's  passion,  fierce  and  wild, 
Hath  perished  like  the  morning  dew, 

And  in  its  place  a  spirit  mild 

That  sees  and  knows  how  to  be  true. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Brother  O-tis-co's  heart  is  dead. 

The  earth  has  lost  her  joy  for  me, 
Passion  has  fled  and  in  its  stead, 

A  monster  vile  I  seem  to  be. 


A  viper  who  would  crawl  and  sting 
The  hand  that  kindly  gives  it  food. 

'Twas  love,  real  love,  the  evil  thing 
That  brought  about  this  fenzied  mood. 


I  seemed  to  think  you  were  my  foe, 
That  fearful  passion  seemed  to  live 

And  move  my  every  being  so, 
Say  O-nei-da  canst  thou  forgive?" 


(O-nei-da:) 

"Brother,  forgiveness  is  but  part, 
My  yearning  soul  in  pity  sees 

How  hard  it  is  to  make  the  heart 
Give  up  its  all,  others  to  please. 


We  both  have  lived  and  had  one  mind 
And  had  no  secrets  hid  between 

Until  this  thing  called  love  did  find 
A  way  our  loving  hearts  to  wean." 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

PEACE. 


Good  Hermann  too  had  restless  grown, 
And  quiet  sought  in  midnight  air. 

He  walking  there  in  thought  alone, 
Saw  all  that  had  transpired  there. 


He  saw  the  Spirit  gently  lead 

O-tis-co  to  a  better  mind, 
And  thankful  grew  his  heart  for  seed, 

Whose  fruit  o'erpowered  passion  blind. 


He  came  to  them  and  laid  his  hands 

On  both  their  heads,  then  spoke  these  words: 

"God  knows  the  stars,  He  counts  the  sands, 
He  saw  this  struggle,  each  word  heard. 


And  He  is  pleased,  you  cannot  know 
How  pleased;  to  see  His  children  pray, 

And  thus  forgive  and  mercy  show. 

For  God  hath  been  with  you  this  day." 


Then  leading  them  to  wigwam  door, 
He  pointed  to  a  path  of  peace. 

And  kindly  blessing  them  once  more 
He  begged  them  let  all  difference  cease. 


53 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

WAR. 


The  morning  brought  a  scent  of  war, 
The  winds  came  surging  thro'  the  pines, 

Low  boomed  the  thunder  from  afar, 
The  storm  king  came  with  all  these  signs. 


And  storm  was  in  the  hearts  of  men 

And  all  the  village  was  astir 
For  Sioux  have  trespassed  they  contend, 

Have  stolen  game.    Thus  they  confer. 


They  took  the  scalps  of  our  young  braves 
And  left  them  all  where  they  were  slain, 

Now  we  must  go  to  make  their  graves, 
Then  punish  them  for  this  foul  stain. 


O-nei-da  bade  the  maid  good-bye 
And  kissed  the  anxious,  tearful  face 

With  this  assurance  if  he  die, 
O-tis-co,  he  must  take  his  place. 


And  now  the  maiden  decks  her  brave 

With  beads  and  feathers  wrought  with  care, 

Then  asks  the  Spirit  keep  and  save 
All  those  who  go  to  battle  there. 


54 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

VICTORY. 

When  once  the  spirit  is  afire, 

Within  the  hearts  of  men  who  feel, 

Justice  justifies  resentful  ire 
To  slay  the  slayer,  a  breach  to  heal. 

Then  war  is  always  fierce  and  wild, 
Insulted  pride  wounds  deep  within, 

Like  thorns  in  flesh,  it  rankles  riled, 
To  center  thought  on  that  one  thing. 

THE   IMAGE  OF  SOME   SPIRIT. 

Some  unseen  force,  some  spirit  sense, 
Taught  redmen  that  their  body  bore 

A  semblance  to  its  maker.     Hence 
Disfigurement   was  punished  more 

Than  all  the  cheating,  lying  ways 
Humanity  could  bring  to  bear. 

For  while  one  hurt  a  few  short  days, 
The  other  marred  for  all  time  there. 

And  he  who  lost  his  scalp  by  foe 
Felt  keenly  sore  o'er  his  mishap, 

All  emulation  now  must  go, 
And  midnight  gloom  his  spirit  wrap. 


55 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

VICTORY. 

They  fly  along  the  forest  trail, 

Pursuing  eager  for  the  fray. 
They've  been  betrayed  they  must  not  fail, 

Insulted  honor  claims  its  prey. 

ENEMY'S  CAMP. 

Around  its  smoking  camp  fire, 

Unconscious  lay  the  enemy. 
When  shrieks  that  rise  high  and  higher, 

'Rouse  them  from  sleep  at  break  of  day. 

The  echoes  ring  ten  sounds  for  one, 
To  fill  the  woods  with  swarms  of  fiends, 

They  shout  for  mercy  as  they  run, 
Where'er  a  'vengeful  foe  is  seen. 

A  fearful  onslaught  rages  here, 
A  fierce  encounter  hand  to  hand, 

One  fights  for  name  to  him  most  dear, 
The  other  at  his  life's  demand. 

No  sign  of  weariness  or  fear, 

Did  the  brave  redman  ever  show, 

From  his  dark  eye  no  falling  tear, 
When  he  was  vanquished  there  would  flow. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

But  stoic  bravery  tho'  he  were  hack'd 
And  torn  in  pieces  by  his  foe, 

He  would  not  flinch  tho'  he  were  rack'd 
By  torture,  none  would  ever  know. 


DEATH. 

The  conflict  raged  until  no  foe 
The  victors  of  the  fight  can  see, 

Then  all  prepare  to  homeward  go, 
When  there  beside  a  large  oak  tree 


They  find  O-tis-co  dying  there, 
Where  cruel  arrows  pierced  his  heart. 

Then  each  and  all  with  loving  care, 
Do  all  they  can  to  ease  the  smart. 


He  sees  how  useless  this  must  be, 
And  calls  "O-nei-da,  are  you  here? 

Brother,  the  light  is  fading,  see, 
The  death  angel  is  drawing  near. 


But  ere  I  go  brother,  one  word, 
Place  me  within  the  burial  mound 

Where  all  the  forest's  music's  heard, 
Close  by  the  river's  rushing  sound. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

And  when  the  spring  returns  each  year, 
Will  you  and  Win-nee-ock-ee-les 

Bring  sweet  wild  flowers  to  plant  near 
O-tis-co's  grave  in  mem'ry  please? 


Tell  Hermann  I  have  gained  true  love, 
And  peace  that  passeth  death  for  life. 

It  comes  to  me  from  God  above, 
And  gives  such  joy  I  feel  no  strife. 


I  leave  Oh-gee-chee  to  your  care, 
The  world  is  fading  from  my  view, 

Brother,  I  ask  you  meet  me  there 
Where  life  and  love  are  always  true." 


Above  his  heart  he  placed  his  hands, 
His  lips  then  moved  to  utter  prayer. 

"Father  above  in  spirit  lands 
Forgive  and  take  O-tis-co  there. 


Let  thy  dear  presence  guide  me  cross, 
Thro'  the  deep  waters  to  the  shore, 

Where  all  the  friends  that  I  have  lost, 
I'll  meet  to  dwell  with  evermore." 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

The  end  had  come,  the  spirit  flown, 
And  they  prepare  to  take  their  way, 

Back  o'er  the  trail  with  sad,  sad  moan, 
In  burial  mound  the  dead  to  lay. 


TREACHERY. 

Sometimes  deep  grief  will  make  men  wild, 
Will  take  all  kindness  from  their  soul. 

'Twas  thus  O-gee-chee's  heart  was  riled, 
As  crushing  sorrow  o'er  him  rolled. 


He  roamed  alone  and  seemed  to  be 
A  senseless  stone  without  a  tear. 

If  only  it  could  prove  a  dream  and  flee, 
And  morning  light  make  it  all  clear. 


This  is  the  mood  bad  spirits  like 
To  work  their  evil  charms  upon, 

Scarce  did  this  grief  his  bosom  strike, 
Ere  thoughts  of  treachery  to  him  did  come. 


Good  Hermann  who  had  thoughtless  told 
The  midnight  scene  down  in  the  wood, 

And  how  O-tis-co's  fierce  wild  mood 
Was  led  by  spirit  wise  and  good, 


59 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Had  dropped  a  straw  which  in  its  turn, 
Was  magnified  and  made  to  be 

A  pretext  for  their  lives  with  stern, 
Morose,   vindictive  Oh-gee-chee. 


And  now  he  thinks  when  battle  raged, 
And  everyone  with  foe  engaged, 

That  then  O-nei-da  his  death  planned, 
That  he  might  win  the  maiden's  hand. 


They  both  are  watched  and  bound  by  braves, 
With  jealous  eye  that  guards  them  well, 

Oh-gee-chee  near  them  walks  and  raves 
And  scouts  at  all  O-nei-da  tells. 


DOOMED  TO   DEATH. 


At  last  the  day  appointed  breaks, 

With  downpour  rain  and  thunder  boom, 

As  if  each  cloud  wept  for  their  sakes, 
As  they  were  led  forth  to  their  doom. 


'Twas  thus  be  planned  to  take  their  lives, 
First  brave  O-nei-da  he  must  die, 

Then  next  good  Hermann.    Pierced  by  knives, 
That  through  the  air  around  them  fly. 

60 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

They  may  not  die  among  the  scenes 
Where  they  have  passed  each  happy  day; 

But  far  away  thro'  forest  green 
Near  by  a  cataract's  falling  spray. 


And  all  his  braves  stand  silent  by, 
While  Tus-ga-wee-ga's  vengeance  take, 

And  Win-nee-ock-ee-les  sees  him  die. 
Thus  hard  their  fate  they  try  to  make. 


OH-GEE-CHEE'S  SPEECH  TO  O-NEI-DA. 


"Son,"  said  the  chief,  "I  saved  your  life, 
And  warmed  you  in  my  own  warm  breast, 

What  evil  spirit  caused  the  strife 
That  sent  your  brother  to  his  rest? 


My  heart  is  like  a  failing  spring, 
Where  pure  fresh  waters  cease  to  flow. 

'Tis  useless  now,  no  strength  it  brings 
To  life  that  round  it  tries  to  grow. 


You  tell  of  a  Spirit  that  gave 
And  cares  for  His  children  below, 

Bid  Him  come  your  lives  to  save, 
And  Oh-gee-chee  will  pardon  you." 


61 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

HERMANN  SPEAKS  TO  O-GEE-CHEE. 

"Chieftain,"  and  Hermann  spake  the  word, 
"The  Spirit  that  I  love  and  own, 

Knows  my  own  heart,  my  prayer  has  heard 
My  sorrows  too  to  Him  are  known. 

I  care  not  for  the  death  you  plan, 
Since  He  will  help  me  through  it  all, 

I  care  more  for  this  brave  young  man, 
Who  through  dark  treachery  must  fall. 

I  know  his  heart  is  brave  and  true, 
I  know  his  thoughts  are  still  for  you, 

Death  hath  no  terrors,  if  'twere  you, 
His  life  he'd  give  and  die  and  do." 

O-NEI-DA. 

O-nei-da's  life  a  reflex  bore 
A  likened  semblance  to  his  father, 

Whate'er  he  said  or  did  was  more 
To  him  than  all  the  world  together. 

O-NEI-DA  SPEAKS  TO  O-GEE-CHEE. 

"Father,  what  were  a  thousand  lives, 
Life  is  not  life  its  sweetness  gone, 

Dishonored  thus  before  all  eyes, 
The  bird  has  lost  its  happy  song. 

62 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

I  know  you  say  that  thro'  my  veins 
The  hated  pale-face  blood  runs  free, 

But  this  I  know,  it  bears  no  stain 
Of  base  ingratitude  to  thee. 


I  would  not  live  though  you  should  bid, 
To  go  back  where  my  friends  may  be, 

I'd  rather  die,  my  body  hid 
Here  'mong  these  scenes  I  love  to  see." 


WIN-NEE-OCK-EE-LES   SPEAKS  TO   OH-GEE-CHEE. 


"Chieftain,"  Win-nee-ock-ee-les  said, 
"My  father  is  an  aged  tree, 

That  every  breeze  that  blows  o'erhead, 
Turns  it  which  way  it  wills  it  be. 


The  Mohawk  maid  is  a  young  tree, 

That  grows  and  thrives  where  sunlight  falls, 

It  withers  where  the  shadows  be 
Let  the  good  chief  his  words  recall. 


The  braves  that  take  O-nei-da's  life, 
Are  our  own  braves  and  friends  to  me. 

And  they  have  promised  that  same  knife, 
Shall  kill  Win-nee-ock-ee-les." 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

SAVED. 

The  lightnings  crash,  the  earth  is  rent, 
The  rocks  roll  down  in  one  huge  mass 

As  if  some  angry  spirit  sent 
These  stones  to  save  their  lives  at  last. 

For  when  they  look  there  all  alone, 
O-nei-da  stands.    The  braves  are  dead. 

And  at  his  feet  a  large,  red  stone, 
That  fell  near  him  from  overhead. 

FEAR. 

"'Tis  the  God  of  fire,  Oh-gee-chee !" 
Said  Tus-ga-wee-ga  falling  prone. 

"God  of  fire  and  redmen  flee 
And  leave  the  captives  there  alone." 

"God  of  love,"  Win-nee-ock-ee-les 

Said.     "Oh,  Chieftains,  look  afar  and  see 

The  storm  has  fled  and  all  the  trees 
Are  nodding  thanks  the  sun  to  see." 

Said  Tus-ga-wee-ga,  "See  the  sun, 
Is  the  fire  from  His  mighty  heart, 

The  moon  His  breath  when  day  is  done, 
And  every  star  His  victories  part. 

64 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

The  thunder  is  His  voice  of  wrath, 
Lightning  the  speeding  arrow's  flash, 

That  flies  adown  the  starry  path 

To  pierce  each  cloud  the  rain  to  dash. 


I  know  He's  love,  see  the  wild  ferns 
Lift  up  their  heads  for  sun  to  kiss, 

And  sparkle  when  the  breezes  turn 
Each  waving  twig  to  form  the  mist. 


The  river  has  a  happy  sound, 
Oh-gee-chee,"  Tus-ga-wee-ga  said, 

"The  aged  oak  new  life  has  found, 
And  love  abides  where  hate  has  fled." 


"The  God  of  love",  said  the  good  priest, 
"God  tries  each  child  to  test  his  worth, 

Yet  helps  withal  the  very  least, 
We  all  are  His  from  hour  of  birth." 


PRAYER. 


"  Father  I  thank  thee  in  this  need, 
That  Thou  hast  walked  close  by  my  side, 

And  turned  fierce  hate  to  love,  indeed, 
My  heart  o'erflows  with  gratitude. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Father,  let  the  good  seed  sown, 
Bring  forth  a  hundredfold  for  Thee 

Oh,  make  these  savage  hearts  Thy  own, 
Bright  stars  in  Hermann's  crown  for  me." 


Oh-gee-chee  seeing,  then  grows  weak, 
"It's  the  Great  Spirit's  voice,"  he  said, 

"You  both  are  free!    Oh,  paleface  speak 
And  tell  Him  by  His  will  I'm  led." 


He  names  O-nei-da  child  of  the  stone, 
And  gives  him  braves  and  lands  to  please, 

Accepts  the  living  God  each  one 
And  then  true  light  Oh-gee-chee  sees. 


THE   END. 


And  then  the  legend  tells  how  true 
O-nei-da  kept  his  word  and  wed 

Win-nee-ock-ee-les;  and  how  through 
Many  happy  years  their  lives  were  sped. 


Until  a  nation  grew,  its  name, 
O-nei-da,  child  of  the  stone. 

Thus  down  the  misty  age  it  came 
And  really  means  "God  save  His  own.' 


66 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  thus  there  is  to  this  last  day 

A  remnant  of  this  nation  dead, 
Who  saved  by  God's  own  hand  and  way, 

Are  hopeful  by  the  Spirit  led. 

NETTIE  PARRISH  MARTIN. 
Auburn,  January  ist,  1897. 


THE  LOST  ARROW. 


*Os-sa-hin-ta  was  a  warrior  bold 
Stout  of  limb  as  any  giant  old. 
Fleet  of  foot  with  deer-like  fleetness 
Proud  and  brave,  he  was  the  bravest, 
Straight  as  any  bowman's  arrow, 
He  could  love  and  he  could  sorrow. 

When  his  arm  in  warfare  lifted, 
All  the  muscles  knot  and  twisted 
Like  giant  roots  of  some  gnarled  tree, 
That  from  the  earth  choose  to  be  free, 
And  loosely  on  the  ground  to  run, 
And  toughen  'mid  the  blast  and  sun. 

So  he  by  prowess  brought  to  light, 
The  subtle  nature  of  his  might, 
In  the  free  life  of  forest  air, 
He  perfect  grew  to  manhood  there. 
Gaining  strength  in  wild  pursuits, 
'Till  he  was  master  of  the  brutes. 

*  Os-sa-hin-la  was  a  young  Indian  chief  who  died  broken 
hearted.  He  was  the  son  of  a  brave  chief,  one  of  six  nations, 
bis  home  was  on  the  shores  of  the  Skancateles  lake,  where 
a  steamboat  named  after  him  (The  Os-sa-hin- ta)  plies  be 
tween  the  foot  and  head  for  the  accommodation  of  tourists. 

68 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Thus  all  that  wrestle  with  him  share 
Alike!    He  mastered  all  who  dare 
To  question  what  he  thought  was  right, 
Or  sought  one  of  his  friends  to  slight 
He  walked  the  earth  a  monarch  there 
A  king  amid  the  forest  fair. 


True  was  his  arrow's  speeding  flight, 
To  some  tall  clift,  or  mountain  height, 
To  bring  rich  trophies  for  his  skill, 
Unsatisfied  he  wanders  still 
With  restless  yearnings  in  his  breast, 
To  meet  some  foe  his  strength  to  test. 


The  very  beasts  crouch  back  to  lair, 
To  meet  his  eye  none  could  or  dare. 
They  seemed  to  feel  with  slinking  fear, 
That  all  must  leave  his  pathway  clear, 
The  very  reptiles  glide  away, 
Where'er  his  daring  footsteps  stray. 


Born  in  a  forest  by  a  stream, 
Life  seems  to  him  a  pleasant  dream. 
And  Nature  mother  of  it  all, 
Whom  he  obeys  whate'er  her  call. 
A  chieftain's  son  of  brave  repute 
'Twere  natural  he  should  follow  suit. 


69 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

And  so  he  braved  what  dangers  came 
With  all  his  kinsfolks'  stoic  fame, 
But  way  down  deep  'neath  swelling  breast, 
There  pulsed  a  heart  of  tenderness. 
And  passion  lit  the  dark  eyes'  flame, 
When  love  with  wonder  to  him  came. 


Then  all  the  world  to  him  did  wake, 
A  joyous  melody  to  make, 
The  very  streams  did  sing  a  song, 
To  mingle  with  the  birds  at  morn. 
Even  the  chatterings  of  the  wood, 
His  heart  responds  to  find  them  good. 


Led  by  love  with  her  fickle  chain, 
Fired  with  passion's  resistless  flame 
Os-sa-hin-ta  goes  a-wooing, 
Just  as  men  to-day  are  doing, 
And  the  maid  with  hope  and  fear 
Fans  the  flame  with  ceaseless  cheer. 


And  thus  he  bowed  a  willing  slave, 
When  first  he  met  love  in  a  cave, 
Listening  to  hear  the  waters  sweet 
Dashing  downward  at  her  feet. 
On-nei-wee-da,  child  of  light, 
He  made  her  queen  of  day  and  night. 


70 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  she  like  all  the  maids  of  old, 
Finds  out  the  weakest  spot  to  hold, 
To  make  his  life  a  perfect  joy, 
Or  crush  his  spirit  like  a  toy; 
To  mend  again  with  taunting  bliss 
By  On-nei-wee-da's  tempting  kiss. 


On-nei-wee-da,  forest  flower, 
Knew  not  the  charm  of  her  own  power, 
'Till  in  his  eyes  she  saw  the  flame, 
That  lit  response  in  her's  the  same. 
Then  from  a  child  she  maiden  grew, 
When  life  in  love  she  sought  and  knew. 


Timid  before  as  wild  gazelle 

Pure  as  the  fawn  in  forest  dell 

She  now  wakes  out  of  childish  thought 

And  simply  is  what  Nature  wrought 

A  flowerette  rare  of  tenderness 

That  love  awoke  to  happiness. 


And  thus  she  led  and  thus  he  tarried, 
His  soul  on  fire  while  she  dallied. 
His  heart  was  rent  with  joy,  then  fear, 
Lest  she  some  other  brave  would  cheer. 
And  so  he  urges  on  his  suit, 
With  all  the  ardor  of  dispute. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

But   On-nei-wee-da,  jesting  maid, 
To  try  his  love  a  plot  has  laid; 
Will  not  hearken  to  his  wooing, 
Cares  not  what  she  sees  him  doing, 
Says  all  we  love  and  most  do  prize, 
Is  bought  by  some  great  sacrifice. 


And  so  with  mischief  in  her  eyes, 
She  taunts  him  there  with  cowardice 
And  tells  him  that  she'd  test  his  skill, 
"To  see  if  he  was  redman  still. 
For  he  who  weds  Pow-ha-tan's  heir, 
Must  shoot  this  eaglet  from  my  hair. 


And  I  will  stand  by  yonder  tree 

And  bind  the  eaglet  thus  you  see; 

Now  waver  not  but  go  and  do 

That  I  may  know  your  love  is  true. 

Your  chance  is  first  now  joy  betide 

If  you  should  win  come  claim  your  bride." 


So  thus  dismissed  he  seeks  his  home, 
And  by  his  camp  fire  weeps  alone, 
Till  all  at  once  he  brings  to  mind, 
A  wise  old  squaw  who,  nearly  blind, 
Could  read  the  future  good  or  bad, 
For  him  she'd  see  what  future  had. 


72 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

And  so  he  wanders  through  the  night, 
To  reach  her  lodge  when  it  is  light. 
He  pacifies  her  greed  of  pelf 
Then  questions  her  with  fevered  breath, 
To  know  if  the  Great  Spirit's  wrath, 
Will  send  some  evil  o'er  his  path. 


Old  Quin-ni-pac  was  very  wise, 

And  though  old  time  had  dimmed  her  eyes 

She  oft  could  see  to  read  the  stars, 

And  though  her  hands  were  streaked  with  scars 

She  still  could  mix  her  charms  to  woo 

The  spirits'  help  that  round  her  flew, 


And  trace  the  fate  of  all  who  turn, 
To  her  lodge  door  and  seek  to  learn 
What  potent  charm  will  cure  some  ill 
They  luckless  have  about  them  still. 
Told  all  in  love  and  all  in  hate, 
And  traced  in  fire  the  nation's  fate. 


So  when  he  plead  she  waved  her  stick 
And  this  commenced  the  black  art  trick; 
Stirred  up  the  camp  fire  with  a  turn, 
Then  put  a  reptile  where  it  would  burn, 
Stroked  a  black  cat  with  loving  care, 
Crooning  a  song  of  mystic  air. 


73 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

The  fire  smouldered  low  at  first, 
Then  in  a  roaring  flame  it  burst, 
Which  made  the  squaw  dance  with  delight, 
She  poured  a  liquid  on  the  light; 
When  from  the  flame  an  eaglet  fleet, 
Fell  down  in  ashes  at  her  feet. 


Next  she  threw  on  a  wondering  frog, 
And  pinioned  him  down  with  a  log. 
Then  in  the  smoke  whirled  everywhere 
They  saw  outlined  a  maiden  fair 
That  floats  far  up  among  the  trees 
And  quick  dissolves  'mid  ether  seas. 


With  stick  she  traced:    "Your  sorely  tried 

By  one  that  sent  you  from  her  side, 

To  test  your  love  with  task  severe, 

/  see  you  win,  so  never  fear. 

I  cut  an  arrow-head  last  moon, 

'Twas  cut  from  flint  and  none  too  soon. 


I  found  the  stone  where  geyser  spring 
Comes  forth  from  earth  with  bubbling  ring; 
'Tis  red  flint  flecked  and  streaked  with  white 
A  talisman  of  wonderous  might. 
'Twill  bring  to  you  whate'er  you  seek 
As  sure  as  I  these  words  do  speak. 


74 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

The  maid  you  seek  shall  be  your  bride, 
This  brings  good  luck  whate'er  betide, 
While  you  this  arrow  keep  at  hand, 
You  ne'er  shall  want  for  food  or  land, 
But  should  you  let  it  from  you  go, 
Then  all  your  luck  shall  turn  to  woe. 


For  I  see  a  pale-faced  nation, 
Come  in  canoe  across  the  ocean, 
Then  all  the  woods  sink  to  decay, 
And  all  the  game  flees  fast  away. 
The  redman  too,  when  this  is  done, 
Seeks  a  new  home  beyond  the  sun. 


I  see  them  leave  their  hunting  ground, 
I  see  them  leave  their  burial  mound, 
And  sorrowful  turn  toward  the  west, 
With  hopeless  hearts  within  their  breasts, 
Questioning  the  Great  Spirit's  care, 
Why  they  this  trial  have  to  bear. 


But  keep  the  arrow  close  at  hand, 
And  all  these  ills  you'll  long  withstand, 
Your  life  like  a  bright  river  flow, 
That  leaps  all  errors,  on  to  go; 
No  obstacles  can  make  it  rest, 
Until  it  sinks  in  Ocean's  breast." 


75 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

He  takes  the  arrow  from  her  hand 

And  speeds  him  back  with  joys  new  planned, 

Then  on  the  day  his  love  is  tried, 

His  arrow  sped  and  eaglet  died. 

And  all  the  braves  exultant  cried, 

"Brave  Star  of  night  now  claim  your  bride." 


And  On-nei-wee-da  bowed  her  head, 
And  from  her  home  a  bride  was  led, 
While  year  by  year  it  was  the  same, 
Their  lodge  was  filled  with  princely  game, 
And  they  with  good  luck  always  blest, 
While  he  the  arrow-head  possessed. 


But  one  day  he  with  careless  tact, 
Forgot  the  words  of  Quin-ni-pac, 
Sped  the  arrow  in  jesting  mood, 
To  scare  a  song  bird  from  her  brood. 
'Twas  thus  he  lost  the  talisman  rare, 
He  could  not  find  it  anywhere. 


Search  where  he  would,  look  where  he  might, 
'Twas  surely  hid  from  out  of  sight; 
And  now  there  came  the  evil  day, 
He  saw  his  bride  fade  fast  away. 
On-nei-wee-da,  best  loved  of  all, 
What  had  he  done  that  she  must  fall 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

Again  he  seeks  old  Quin-ni-pac, 
With  fleetest  foot  o'er  trail  and  track, 
In  hopes  that  she  some  charm  may  give, 
To  let  his  On-nei-wee-da  live. 
But  vain  the  quest,  he  hears  it  said 
Old  Quin-ni-pac  has  long  been  dead. 


He  turns  with  sorrow  back  again, 
His  body  full  of  mocking  pain, 
Searching  by  night,  searching  by  day, 
To  find  out  where  the  arrow  lay. 
'Tis  vain!    So  through  the  silent  wood, 
He  seeks  his  home  in  sullen  mood, 


To  find  that  life  is  ebbing  slow, 
And  all  he  loves  on  earth  must  go. 
What  were  his  victories  to  him 
With  none  to  watch  or  welcome  him. 
Here  he  knelt  tearless  beside  her, 
Knelt  by  her  couch  of  richest  fur. 


There  he  watched  the  fever  burn, 
There  he  knelt  and  tried  to  learn 
If  he  by  gross  neglect  had  tried 
To  leave  some  wish  ungratified. 
But  no,  he  sees  'twas  always  bliss 
To  bring  all  she  would  love  and  wish. 


77 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

The  softest  furs  for  bed  and  feet, 
The  richest  food  of  game  and  meat, 
Cloth  of  gold  with  embroidery  old, 
Anklets,  belt  and  rings  of  gold; 
With  strings  of  gems  to  bind  the  hair, 
All  these  he  brought  with  loving  care. 


So  loving  to  his  heart  he  pressed  her, 

Thus  he  sought  from  death  to  wrest  her, 

But  she  passed  from  him  away, 

Left  him  sad  alone  to  stay. 

Lost  On-nei-wee-da,  child  of  light, 

Sad  Os-sa-hin-ta,  star  of  night. 


When  the  moon  with  plenty  teems 
And  the  stars  with  brightness  gleams 
Then  Os-sa-hin-ta  sees  a  shadow, 
Past  his  wigwam  come  and  go, 
Pointing  with  its  shadow  hand, 
To  the  happy  spirit  land. 


Thus  she  came  and  lured  him  away, 
Where  he  helped  in  battle  fray, 
There  they  found  him,  wounded  lying, 
On  the  ground  they  found  him  dying, 
Whispering  softly  "On-nei-wee-da, 
I  come  lost  love  with  you  to  stay." 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

By  the  side  of  On-nei-wee-da, 
Sleeps  the  warrior  Os-sa-hin-ta, 
And  their  spirits  roam  together, 
Where  the  happy  tribes  do  gather 
When  the  Great  Spirit  calls  his  own 
Beyond,  beyond  the  setting  sun. 


Centuries  have  passed  away, 
Still  the  song  birds  sing  their  lay, 
Where  the  sunbeams  come  and  play, 
O'er  the  mound  where  sleeping  lay 
Os-sa-hin-ta,  On-nei-wee-da, 
Gone  where  life  is  one  long  day. 


As  their  lives  were  here  below, 
So  their  lives  shall  onward  flow 
In  that  home  beyond  the  sun, 
Now  their  work  on  earth  is  done. 
Os-sa-hin-ta,   star  of  night. 
On-nei-wee-da,  child  of  light. 


All  the  forests  now  have  fled, 
As  Quin-ni-pac  had  truly  said, 
And  the  paleface  with  his  plough 
Turned  up  the  ground,  and  tells  you  how 
He  found  the  long-lost  arrow-head, 
The  legend  said  was  white  and  red. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

An  arrow-head  of  wonderous  make, 
Which  he  with  joy  is  glad  to  take, 
Red  arrow-head  streaked  o'er  with  white, 
For  this  he  knows  the  Legend's  right. 
And  now  the  story  goes  that  he 
In  finding  found  prosperity. 

Bacon  Northrup  of  Mandana,  Onondaga  Co.,  found  the 
arrow  near  a  spring  called  Deer  Lick. 


80 


ODE  TO  SKANEATELES  LAKE. 


Beautiful  lake  of  legends  old, 

Where  dusky  maid  and  warrior  bold 

Roamed  at  will  your  forests  through, 

Saw  your  moods,  and  by  them  knew 

When  the  storm  king  hither  flew. 

Saw  the  sky  of  azure  blue  mirrored  deeply  on  thy 

breast, 
The  orb  of  day,  the  silver  moon,  silent  saw  them 

sink  to  rest, 

Let  the  murmur  of  thy  wave, 
As  they  roll  thy  shores  to  lave, 
Whisper  to  me  deeds  of  yore, 
I  would  listen,  Ah!    Once  more, 
When  thy  virgin  soil  with  forests  grew, 
And  lengthening  shadows  o'er  thy  waters  threw. 
Did  love  and  hate  fierce  struggles  hold 
O'er  man  and  beast,  or  did  they  live  like  brothers 

in  one  common  fold. 
Brothers  all,  the  very  least? 
Did  poisoned  adder  his  venom  hide, 
When  graceful  deer  came  bounding  down  the  side 
Of  craigy  cliff  to  slake  his  thirst? 
Or  listen  to  the  feathered  songsters'  burst 
Of  woodland  music  trilling  nigh, 

81 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

Or  warbling  some  rich  melody  when  they  did 

homeward  fly? 

Tell  me  softly,  sighing  waves,  did  chieftain 
In  wildest  dreams  a  vision  gain 
Of  sun-lit  fields,  of  grain  and  luscious  fruit, 
Gifts  to  the  paleface's  toil,  a  fitting  tribute? 


Oh,  wanton  race,  did  no  prophet  seer, 
Peer  through  the  ages,  and  thy  death  knell  hear? 
Where,  where  are  thy  records  of  deeds  of  fame, 
Gone  like  thyself,  a  myth,  a  legend  thy  name  ? 
Whence  came  thy  name,   did   Jesuit  monk  or 

priestly  fees 

Call  thy  beautiful  waters  Skaneateles? 
No!    No!    Through   the   centuries'   mazy   veil, 
The  kerchiefed  dame  tells  thy  legend  tale, 
How  Skaneateles  was  an  Indian  maiden  fair, 
A  chieftain's  only  daughter  of  graces  rare, 
Whose  hand  was  sought  by  an  O-nei-da  brave, 
But  her  father  was  cruel  as  death  and  the  grave. 
Fierce  hate  for  years,  on  either  side 
Love's  potent  spell  could  not  out-ride, 
Yet  then  as  now  love  breaks  all  bars, 
They  often  met  beneath  the  stars; 
Plighted  their  troth  in  a  thousand  ways, 
Hoping  and  wishing  for  better  days. 


OF  EARLY  DAYS. 

The  legend  tells  us  one  stormy  night, 

When  the  moon  was  hid  and  gave  no  light, 

Skaneateles  went  to  meet  her  brave 

But  instead  she  found  a  watery  grave. 

As  she  sped  along  in  her  light  canoe, 

That  danced  about  on  the  wavelets  blue, 

She  hears  the  cuckoo's  note  and  song, 

And  her  heart  beats  wild  as  she  flies  along, 

For  she  knows  the  song  is  her  lover's  note 

Calling  his  love  in  the  rocking  boat, 

And  she  answers  the  call  with  Whip-poo-will, 

Which  the  breezes  catch  and  the  wild  winds  trill. 

But  a  storm  has  burst  and  the  thunders  wild 

Have  sent  a  bolt  to  the  dauntless  child ; 

And  calm  in  death  she  will  answer  no  more, 

Till  they  meet  again  on  the  spirit  shore, 

Where  hate  and  sorrow  will  loose  their  sting, 

Where  life  in  love  shall  forever  sing. 


Then  the  warrior  brave  when  he  heard  the  news 
Threw  himself  'neath  the  waves,  so  sang  the  muse. 
And  their  spirits  forever  on  the  waves  do  ride 
When  the  storm  is  wild  and  the  stars  do  hide; 
When  the  lightnings  gleam  to  make  a  chain, 
Hand  in  hand  they  speed  thro'  dripping  rain 
Back  o'er  the  trail,  where  their  kinfolks  sleep, 
To  muse  on  the  past  and  with  the  storm  king 
weep. 

83 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

******** 

Now  the  kerchiefed  dame  goes  on  the  same 

To  tell  how  the  waters  received  their  name. 

How  when  morning  came,  cold  in  death  she  lay 

On  a  sandy  shore  in  a  quiet  bay; 

How  her  father,  the  chieftain,  with  grief  went  wild 

O'er  the  sad,  sad  fate  of  his  only  child, 

And  he  buried  her  there  'neath  the  forest  trees, 

And  named  the  waters  Skaneateles. 

Sometimes  when  the  moon  makes  a  bridge  of  gold, 

A  phantom  band  wild  orgies  hold 

And  seem  to  dance  with  the  gentle  breeze, 

O'er  the  beautiful  waters  of  Skaneateles; 

Or  a  phantom  chief  with  its  spirit  hand 

Comes  wildly  o'er  the  golden  span, 

And  kneeling  on  the  sandy  shore, 

He  weeps  till  daylight  comes  and  night  is  o'er. 


Oh  jewel  fair  on  Mother  Nature's  breast 
Forever  gleam,  of  all  her  gems  thou  art  the  best, 
Here  let  memories  of  the  lingering  past, 
Into  the  future  centuries  merge  and  last, 
And  all  thy  hills  awake,  thy  waters  shine 
With  songs  of  legendary  fame  sublime. 

NETTIE  PARRISH  MARTIN. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  INDIAN  PIPE.* 


By  the  lake  a  fmaiden  sleeps, 
O'er  her  grave  her  sire  weeps, 
Cruel,  cold  his  acted  part, 
'Till  death's  arrow  ope'd  his  heart. 

-   *j 

Then  he  lays  his  anger  down, 
Calls  her  from  the  spirit  ground, 
But  the  echoes  sadly  say, 
Thou  forgiveness  didst  delay. 

'Neath  the  water's  silver  sheen 
Sleeps  her  lover  all  unseen, 
While  the  rolling  wavelets  sing, 
Lullabyes  from  spring  to  spring. 

Moonbeams  rest  there  o'er  her  grave, 
Where  the  chieftain  stern  and  brave 
Kneeling  seeks  the  Spirit  power, 
For  forgiveness  through  a  flower. 

*  A  rare  orchid  of  pure  white,  now  nearly  extinct, 
t  Skaneateles. 


INDIAN  LEGENDS 

And  in  answer  in  the  light, 
Comes  two  forms  in  radiance  bright, 
And  their  clasped  hands  they  place 
On  the  grave  then  seek  his  face. 


Lo!  beneath  them  he  espies, 
Pure  and  white  a  flower  arise 
Like  the  *  Calumet  in  form 
It  brought  peace  and  quelled  the  storm. 


Ages  long  have  passed  away 
Since  that  sad,  eventful  day, 
But  the  legend  still  keeps  bright 
Through  the  f" Orchid"  pure  and  white. 

*  A  pipe  of  peace. 

t  The  Indians  used  to  tell  that  the  orchid  was  the  flower  Skane- 
ateles  placed  on  her  grave,  a  token  of  forgiveness  and  peace, 
and  when  one  was  found  it  was  preserved  with  great  care 
and  reverence  as  a  token  from  the  Great  Spirit,  of  plenty 
and  forgiveness. 

NETTIE  PARRISH  MARTIN 


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